


Canadian Invasion

by FadedSepia



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gift Fic, Happy Birthday, I know you're actually pros at invading the United States, Lots of laughing, M/M, Mild Teasing, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, apologies to actual Canadians, based on a real thing that happened to me, birthday fic, cute husbands, the midwest is kinda weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 19:04:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18697411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FadedSepia/pseuds/FadedSepia
Summary: Bucky was jolted awake by a sound he remembered all too well. He knew this sound. Quite literally knew this drill. The lights were already out, and they kept their weapons at the ready, each on his own side of the bed, so that was no concern. Vacation home or not; even in the middle of nowhere Iowa, neither he nor Clint was in the habit of being anywhere unarmed.His only worry, really, regarded what the current location of his husband was, since the answer – even when talking about Clint Barnes-Barton at o-three-hundred - should have been ‘in bed.’ A sigh of relief slipped out of him when Clint opened the bedroom door, catching his eyes, hands moving quickly, palm over fist, signing to compensate for the wail of the sirens. ‘BASEMENT.’When he's awoken by sirens in the middle of the night, Bucky is prepared for every contingency… almost





	Canadian Invasion

**Author's Note:**

> **H appy Birthday, SEVDRAG!**

Bucky was jolted awake by a sound he remembered all too well. He knew this sound. Quite literally _knew this drill._ The lights were already out, and they kept their weapons at the ready, each on his own side of the bed, so that was no concern. Vacation home or not; even in the middle of fucking nowhere Iowa, neither he nor Clint was in the habit of being anywhere unarmed.

His only worry, really, regarded what the current location of his husband was, since the answer – even when talking about Clint Barnes-Barton at o-three-hundred - should have been ‘ _in bed.’_ A sigh of relief slipped out of him when Clint opened the bedroom door, catching his eyes, hands moving quickly, palm over fist, signing to compensate for the wail of the sirens. _‘BASEMENT.’_

Snagging Clint’s bow and hip quiver as he rounded the bed, his own sidearm already tucked in the back waistband of his sleep pants, Bucky followed down both sets of stairs, slipping past his husband to lay out their weapons, letting Clint secure the door. They’d kitted out the basement to serve as a miniature base as necessary – something they hadn’t quite been sure they needed at the time – so it was the ideal place to bunker down and strategize. Their nearest neighbors were ten miles out; Bucky could only hope they had a cellar or shelter as well.

Still, it raised a rather unsettling question, especially as far as they were from any sort of border or ocean. Not that those would stop many missiles, or the odd alien or interdimensional invasion – you just handled those on the fly – but that was a different sort of siren. This one, though, meant planes, which, had it been New York, or Alaska, even _Cleveland_ might have made some sense, but… who the hell thought it was good strategy to waste planes on a bombing raid out over Carbon, Iowa?

After locking up the basement door, Clint had settled back onto the couch they kept down here, and was patting the seat beside him. They really _should_ radio somebody, shouldn’t they? At least leave the channel open in case someone sent out a call or needed to relay strike coordinates, but… Bucky settled in next to him, still thrumming with confusion when Clint hooked an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in tight and nuzzling his hair.

“Comfortable?”

“Mmhmm.” There were few places he more preferred to be than snuggled up with his head on Clint’s shoulder. “But… Shouldn’t we check in?”

“Why? It’s pretty standard, but we haven’t been out here in the spring since the honeymoon, have we?” Clint kissed the top of his head with a yawn. “They’ll give the all clear soon enough. Already locked up the barn, and your bike is down in the cellar.”

“Shouldn’t we help, though?” There was no way Mr. Montgomery up the road had a SHIELD approved fallout shelter on his property, and he had a little girl to worry about. Bucky knew Clint was tired, but he’d never been one to shirk duty. “It’s from Earth, clearly, but who? Hydra? AIM?”

“Babe, are you okay?”

“Of course, _I’m_ okay.” Pulling back from the embrace, he furrowed his brows, head tilted as he spoke. “I’m not the _Avenger_ sitting on his duff ignoring an _AIR RAID SIREN_. _”_ He didn’t understand what, exactly, his usually a night-owl of a husband was missing about the seriousness of this situation.

“Oh… Oh, Bucky… I…” Clint had started smiling at him, but now his lips curled in as he bit them, breath beginning to shudder. “I’m sorry, Babe… I… I forgot to tell you.” At this point, Clint was all but fully laughing, chest heaving even as he wrapped his other arm around his husband. He swept Bucky’s hair back from his face, mirth-filled grey-green eyes meeting confused blue. Clint bent to kiss him, lips pressing gently to the end of his nose. “They use that for tornadoes out here, Babe.”

The wail of the klaxon started up, again, just as he finished speaking.

Having literally had it trained into him, Bucky couldn’t help the startled tension that snapped him to rigidity at the sound. That reaction was the last push needed to send Clint collapsing into a fit of raucous laughter, whole body shaking, loud hiccoughing laugh getting high and goosey, and eventually devolving into wheezing snorts.

All the while, Bucky was cradled in against his chest, mind finally connecting the dots. Clint had been out of bed securing anything that needed a tie down. His bike was in the cellar where it wouldn’t be blown away. They were in the basement as a precaution against _weather_ , not _weapons_. No one had bothered to tell him that air raid sirens – which had, in all of his _intact_ memory, been for fucking aerial attacks – were used to warn about damn wind storms. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“N-no-oo…” Clint snorted in through his nose, trying to school his expression into something less amused at Bucky’s panicked faux pas. Trying, but failing, lips still twitching with repressed laughter. “They were already here after that war, so most places just repurposed them. And besides, who the hell would fucking invade _Iowa_?”

“I don’t know…” Bucky sputtered and shrugged. “Canada?!”

That completely undid what little control his husband had achieved, leaving him almost gasping for air by the time his snorts and wheezing giggles stopped, again. “Oh, oh, yeah, sure; Canadian Invasion. Sounds legit, really, babe. Pretty sure that’s just Logan running down for cheap smokes.”

“Shut yer hole, Barton.” Pouting, he smacked his head into the joint of Clint’s shoulder, curling in against the man’s arm with a loud huff.

He got a stubbly kiss against his forehead for his efforts. “Hey, that’s Barnes-Barton, Sergeant Barton-Barnes. Don’t forget that; you’re stuck with me, babe.”

“Yeah, I know.” Bucky tipped his head back, chasing those lips for a real, if brief kiss. He chuckled; it was, he could admit, a little funny.

Clint nodded, leaning down so that their foreheads touched. “Mmhmm. Stuck with me. In our basement. Hiding from the wind. That you thought was a bombing raid.”

“Okay, well when you put it that way, it sounds stupid.” Cuddled in against a strong chest, safe and warm – even if they were stuck on the basement couch instead of in their own bed – it was impossible for him to keep sulking.

“Yeah…” Clint pressed one last kiss to his hairline, voice low and teasing as he whispered. “Almost as stupid as _‘Canadian Invasion.’”_

Bucky didn’t think it was _that_ funny; certainly not worth the reaction that Clint was having. Still, with his husband once more cracking himself up, there was enough of an opening, “Duck and cover, Doll,” for Bucky to shove him off of the couch.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, a bit of backstory on this whole thing. I grew up in a coastal military town, and we did not use that traditional klaxon wailing alarm for tornadoes. For graduate school, I moved to the next city over in the Midwest from where Sevdrag lives, just south of one of the Great Lakes. One day, the sirens go off, and our professors walk down the hall telling everyone to go to the lowest level of the building. We all – 40 odd grad students, professors, some undergrads in class in our building – cram into the lowest room with no windows. 
> 
> Remember, during this time, _nobody_ has said _anything_ about what the siren means. There was some voiceover, but it was all indistinguishable speaker mumbles, so I, goofy little southern coastal girl, have no idea what’s happening. We’re all sitting in this middle room, and I finally lean over and ask another grad student. 
> 
> “So what’s going on?” 
> 
> She just rolls her eyes and points kind of upwards, not answering my question. 
> 
> “So… what, is Canada invading or something?” (I could not think of anyone else who could get an air presence _that_ far into the United States. To be fair, I was in graduate school, so I can guarantee I was sleep deprived and over caffeinated.) She looks at me, agog, and answers. 
> 
> _“No, it’s a tornado sighting. Don’t you hear the siren?”_
> 
> “You mean the air siren?” 
> 
> _“Don't you know that’s for tornadoes?”_
> 
> “Not where I’m from it isn’t!” 
> 
> I have since learned that the same siren is also used to warn for earthquakes, too. So, this really happened, but it wasn’t nearly so cute and fun as I tried to make it… and now, I and a few friends, refer to tornado sightings as _Canadian Invasion_.


End file.
